


intermezzo: 379

by asofthaven



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Introspection, M/M, Missing Scene, but not in my heart, this is canon until and unless furudate convinces me otherwise, vague spoilers for recent arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asofthaven/pseuds/asofthaven
Summary: “What’s the score?” Chikara asks. Nishinoya pockets his phone then loops an arm through Chikara’s, and drags him towards the tiny parking garage down the street.“Ooh, Chikara, are you takingsides?” Nishinoya laughs, tugging his hat off once they’ve entered the garage.Nishinoya and Chikara, on their way to the match.
Relationships: Ennoshita Chikara/Nishinoya Yuu
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	intermezzo: 379

**Author's Note:**

> i read ch 379, went absolutely feral at the sight of Ennoshita Chikara, and wrote this.

Nishinoya is waiting for him outside the office, sitting on the concrete planter by the entrance. Despite the wind, his jacket is half-open, the only other concession to the cold a neon hat on his hair. His eyes are rapt on his phone, but he looks up at the sound of the door opening. He grins.

Even now, Chikara’s whole body warms at the sight.

“I told you to go ahead without me,” Chikara says, zipping his jacket up and scrunching his nose as the wind blows.

“I decided to pick you up instead,” Nishinoya says cheerily, offering a steaming cup of coffee with Chikara's name on it. “Aren’t I the best boyfriend?”

“Sure,” Chikara answers, dry. Nishinoya _is_ , though; Chikara wouldn’t trade him for the world, for the universe. He takes the coffee.

Nishinoya winks, like he knows what Chikara’s thinking. Chikara smiles despite himself. “They’re still in the middle of the first set--we can make it before they finish if we go now!”

He lifts his phone to prove the point: on the screen, tiny bodies move and run and jump. Chikara catches a flash of orange hair and feels a surge of pride well up in him.

“What’s the score?” Chikara asks. Nishinoya pockets his phone then loops an arm through Chikara’s, dragging him towards the tiny parking garage down the street.

“Ooh, Chikara, are you taking _sides_?” Nishinoya laughs, tugging his hat off once they’ve entered the garage. His hair sticks up at weird angles; it’s shorter than it was in high school, and prone to theatrics even without gel. Chikara runs a hand through it, getting it to lie flat at least momentarily.

“Should we not? I mean, one of them has to win,” he says. Nishinoya’s car comes into view, a small black car that is blessedly sensible, the charms hanging from the rearview mirror and tinted rims notwithstanding. Chikara, who regrets his choice to commute via the train every winter, very nearly cried when Nishinoya showed up at the apartment with it earlier this year.

“So who’s your money on?” Nishinoya asks, unlocking the car and throwing himself into the driver’s seat. Throws his hat, too, into the back, and probably would do the same with his jacket if not for Chikara’s stern glance. He smiles, sheepish, and leaves the jacket on.

Chikara sips on his coffee as he considers the question; he knows very little about what Hinata’s been up to beside the fact that it was beach volleyball in Brazil, but Kageyama has been flashing across his TV and computer screens for ages now. An obvious choice.

“Well,” he starts. But then, Hinata has always managed to carve new peaks from old mountains. Who’s to say that he _isn’t_ ready to surpass Kageyama now? “Well,” he says again, more troubled.

Nishinoya pulls out of the garage, and Chikara decidedly does not look at the speedometer; it’s better for his blood pressure this way.

“You have no idea, right?” Nishinoya guesses. He’s grinning again, reaching a hand out to find Chikara’s free one. “I dunno either. That’s what makes it exciting!”

Chikara laughs. He squeezes Nishinoya’s hand. “Do you think they’ll do a full five sets?”

“I _hope_ so.” Above them, the sun blazes, strong slants of white cutting through the windows as they speed towards an old battleground. They’re well past high school, and Chikara is well past playing volleyball, but his blood is thrumming like he’s seconds from getting on the court again.

Nishinoya must feel it, too; he’s still and sharp as he drives, the same way he gets before a game. There’s something prophetic about this, Chikara reflects as he balances his coffee between his legs and brings the game up on his phone. Kageyama is up to serve, face severe as the whistle blows. Chikara has seen this a hundred times, a thousand, from up close, and still he holds his breath as Kageyama tosses the ball up.

Even through the tiny phone speaker, the crash is almighty. His forearms sting with the ghosts of bruises.

“Was that Kageyama?” Nishinoya asks. Chikara exhales. He laughs.

“You could tell?”

“You always look like that when Kageyama serves,” Nishinoya says, flashing him an oddly superior look. “Like you think the ground is gonna crack.”

“More like my bones,” Chikara mutters. Nishinoya’s laugh fills the car, right to the brim, and all Chikara can do is hope to not drown in it. He brings Nishinoya hand to his lips and kisses the knuckles, smiling.

Somewhere, someone is watching volleyball for the very first time. They’re wondering how a person can make a stadium rumble like that, or how a person so small can jump so high. Maybe they already know Kageyama’s name; maybe they’re scrambling to learn Hinata’s. They see themselves, suddenly, flying. It doesn’t matter, really, where they end up; somewhere, someone is falling in love because of this game, and a whole world of possibility is unfolding at their feet.

“Hey,” Chikara says, as the car slows to a reluctant stop at a red light. Nishinoya looks at him, still smiling faintly. “Don’t you feel kind of lucky?”

Nishinoya’s expression softens; he wears tenderness better and more often than any jacket. “Every day,” he says simply, and Chikara knows they’re not talking about volleyball anymore.

“Yuu,” he says, quiet and amused. A cheer sounds from his phone, but he’s missed who scored the point. There’s a lot he wants to say, but he decides on the most pressing. “The light is green.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Nishinoya says, snapping his gaze back to the road. He hits the gas with such force that Chikara swears his foot smashes through the bottom of the car. Chikara laughs so hard that tears pool at the corners of his eyes, laughs so hard that he has to duck his head down to hold the snickers in.

Nishinoya grumbles next to him, but his hand is still warm and firm in Chikara’s. He's still laughing when they finally back into a parking spot and head to the stadium at a sprint.

Because before there were professional teams and sponsorships, before there were cities away from home and tiny first apartments, before there was a job he loves and a boy he loves more, there was a volleyball net. And how funny is that?

**Author's Note:**

> May 2020 be as blessed as Ennoshita Chikara's arms.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments always appreciated.


End file.
